2004-04-26 - 10:03 a.m.

Blown Crotch & Sandbox

Another weekend was spent working at my brother's house down in Concord. I'm happy to help him, and I'm enjoying my weekends. But the tool his house has taken on my jeans is amazing. In two months I've managed to blow out the crotch on two different pairs of levis.

It is kinda funny, because as a child I would blow out the knees on my jeans. I imagine that I was a well mannered terror as a child. The energy I had then was amazing. I recall that there was no real boundary of time or space. I just wanted to run everywhere, all the time. I had no interest in anything like reading or watching. It was all about action.

But now that I'm an adult it is my crotch (at least in my jeans) that seems to be my weak point. *pondering* OK, I've been wounded there as well.

Everybody seems surprised by the good job my brother and I did on stuccoing his house. They shouldn't be. As a child I had a sandbox. When the sand would run low, we'd take our wagon to the streets looking for a construction site with a big sand pile. We'd dig in the sane and shovel out enough sand to fill the wagon and return home.

Being kids, we were dumb. Sometimes instead of finding a pile of actual sand, we'd take the "light gray sand" instead. We'd mix this strange light gray sand in with our regular sand.

Then on really hot days we'd dig canals in our sandbox. We'd pack our canals down and then run a garden hose from the back of the house out to the sand box.

Imagine our surprise when our sand would harden!

The moral of the story: if you want your kids to learn the fine art of construction, sneak bags of cement into their sandbox. Is it any wonder that I became an engineer?

n.p. psychic tv :: cold blue torch

-=-

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